Cathouse
by West27
Summary: Francis Bonnefoy runs an inner-city strip bar. Many regulars return for the club's stars, Arthur and Mathias; however two of the club's best patrons only have eyes for Matthew, an employee within the club. With a potential new star, Francis decides to use the popular boy to supplement his business. Human AU, multiple pairings including FrUK, PruCan and USUK.
1. Prologue: The Angel and King

**Author's Note:**This story will start off focusing on Arthur (England), Mathias (Denmark) and club owner Francis (France).  
Matthew (Canada) and a few others will be introduced in in the first chapter or two with chapters ranging from 1,000 - 7,000 words (maybe more).

Not entirely sure where this is going... but Matthew and Gilbert will likely take the lead at some point... not to say there won't be any USUK, FrUK and one-sided RusCan (amongst others) as well ~

Rated M for language, sexual content/themes and the strong possibility of future lemons.

* * *

**Prologue:** **The** **Angel and King**

* * *

From all around the main stage came the cat-calls and jeers of satisfied patrons as the most recent dancer slipped off stage and escaped behind a heavy black door marked 'Staff Only' emblazed in silver lettering where a strong-bodied bouncer stood guard.

This particular dancer, a young blonde man not shy of thirty years, happened to be one of two of the club's favourites. When asked, customers all seemed to agree that it was the man's boyish looks and youthful physique that kept them interested; fiery emerald eyes beneath prominent brows and a cute, engaging smile was what the men and women who visited wanted to see. And it was these looks that gave him the stage name 'The Angel of _Cerise Noire_'.

Francis, the owner and active manager of the _Cerise Noire_ strip club took pride in his entertainers, and in particularly he treasured this green-eyed British blonde, however jealously he liked to keep his favourite for himself. He wouldn't stand in the way of his gem earning more business from the exclusive and VIP clients. However rules were strict; under no circumstance were his patrons authorised to touch his belongings.

As Arthur rounded the corner and entered the dressing room with what little left of his leather attire that he'd managed to seize after his show's end, he promptly discarded even that as to take use the facilities of the installed dressing room ensuite.

Arthur stood stark-naked in view of the mirror as the shower ran, taking great care to remove the silver clasps and studs that adorned his earlobes and setting them on the side. On the other side of the door he heard someone else shuffle about, moving things on the dresser hurriedly and making little disgruntled sounds.

"Lost something?" The spiky-haired blonde looked up from scattering the many cases of stage makeup and tacky glitter tubes. This man, a Dane who went by the name of Mathias to those who weren't being entertained, frowned subtly. Arthur was at the door with a towel hanging off his hips, a look of pure un-amusement now bestowing that now not-too-beautiful face of his as his unusually thick eyebrows were knitted into a frown and his lips pressed into a tight line.

Arthur had never been terribly fond of Mathias. The Dane, unlike himself, was a tall more masculine man with what many who couldn't decide considered to possess looks that were equally attractive to the slightly older Englishman. His flaxen blonde hair was always wild; stuck up in a smooth wavy style that went off to the sides – whether he accomplished it through the use of gel or if he was graced with it naturally was anyone's guess. Again unlike Arthur he was fond of sitting at the club's bar after his shows so that he could get the chance to maybe socialise and flirt with his clients in hopes of a free drink and an extra tip. Francis forbade him from ever touching a drop of booze before a show, and even after strongly discouraged the consumption of too much afterwards. Nevertheless he always wound up getting a bit too feisty for his own good and more than once before he'd tried picking fights with the club's Swedish bouncer, Berwald.

Today it seemed as though Mathias was going with his 'King of Scandinavia' get-up; a sleeveless black leather top with pants that revealed very little in the front of the pants, and done up with straps that were fastened with buckles to give it the 'bondage feel' that his gay clients seemed to enjoy. And as always, this particular outfit couldn't be completed without the small black hat that he wore which he'd twirl seductively around his exposed crotch and fling off near the end for a last minute big-tip.

It was apparent though that this necessary accessory was missing.

"I can't find it!" Mathias complained, turning to look through the clothes rack. "I'm going on-stage in a few minutes, too!" Arthur rolled his shoulders. It wasn't any concern of his if the man didn't get his fistful of notes this evening. It'd mean more for him if he decided to take another show a bit later once a fresh crowd of rowdy gentleman came in.

"Don't look at me. It's not my job to take note of where you dump your crap. Going to have to go out on stage without it, aren't you, King?" And he disappeared back behind the door just as white steam came swirling out from behind him, puffing out and extinguishing as the ensuite door closed and was locked.

Mathias must've found his hat because it wasn't long after Arthur climbed into the shower that he heard the Dane shout with joy and then the dressing room door slammed shut. Somewhere far down the corridor Arthur still heard the music and ignited shouts of tonight's customers, barely muffled by the many layers of concrete wall and the shower. Even so, it wasn't nearly enough to disturb him. It just would be nice to freshen up a bit before he decided to allow himself a rare moment to socialise in public at the bar. Contrary to belief he wasn't fond of soaking in his own sweat in a tight, leather outfit and would refuse to make it seem like a habit – after all, he had to keep a good, clean image if he were to remain as one of the club's no.1s and Francis' absolute…


	2. Dreaming of the Limelight

**Chapter 1:**** Dreaming of the Limelight**

* * *

"Another rowdy bunch tonight, eh?" Arthur feigned interest as the American barkeep stood across the counter mixing a neon cocktail for a young female customer sat on the far end. Arthur took another sip of his rum and coke and refused to even turn his head a fraction to observe Mathias at the other end of the room as the Dane whisked his hat off and sent it off into the cheering crowd with a flick of his wrist as one of his finishing moves. The man was such a tease.

The bar had been cleverly stationed for the inconvenience of the customers. One could not simply sit at the bar and enjoy a nice view, oh no. If they wanted in on the visual aspect they had to choose between a comfortable seat with a beverage or standing amongst others as an attractive yet sometimes haughty dancer strip-teased on stage to a money bribe and burlesque music, arrogantly refusing if the tip was poor.

Arthur was one of those arrogant ones. He never even so much as removed his shoes unless someone chucked him a hundred, let alone his pants. Tonight had been rather a good haul though; he'd made well over $1,000 tonight alone so he wasn't disappointed. However, although his shift for the night was over he lacked a suitable change of clothes so he was forced to squeeze back into the vest, tight leather pants and jacket that he wore for the show until he got home. The only difference now was that the sparkly bits of jewellery and the slim studded leather collar he wore had been left in the dressing rooms.

The young barkeep finished dispensing his orders. Then he leaned over the counter wearing a wily grin. Alfred was amongst the youngest staff here, aged twenty-five. Tall, blonde and blue-eyed with his fair share of muscle, and particularly good-looking if he lost the glasses or at least replaced them with shades. Francis had previously tried convincing him to join Arthur and Mathias only for him to reject the offer. It wasn't his sort of thing, he'd said.

For quite some time the American had been secretly courting Arthur. The older man was disinterested though, or at least he seemed to be when in company. He'd never show relations with the blonde young man when he knew Francis could be watching his prize from anywhere…

No. Their relationship was kept strictly for the bedroom, and Arthur was rather good at keeping it that way. He was paranoid that Francis might be around to catch them.

He wasn't actually dating Francis so it wasn't like he was cheating on the older blonde Frenchie by being with Alfred, yet from the moment he began stripping here he'd become aware that Francis considered him as 'his' and 'his' alone. He needed the money, bad.

Draining his glass Arthur held it out, giving it a little shake. "Fill 'er up." Alfred took it with a smile but seemed reluctant to fulfil the man's request.

"This'll be your third one."

"I know that, you dolt. Just gimme my refill and don't be stingy with the rum this time. Gimme some of the good stuff from up there on the shelf." Arthur's words were slurred from slight inebriation, giving the twang of his British accent a heavy drawl.

"No can do. That's for the paying customers, remember?" Alfred bared his teeth in another cheeky grin before turning to mix the drink anyways, knowing that if he didn't the other would probably complain to Francis with the threat of leaving if he wasn't kept happy. "Your brother's going to kill me. This'll be the third time this week I've brought you home hammered."

"S'not his business what I do. 'm not some little brat like you."

"You're right," Alfred said as he presented the man with the fresh beverage, "You're a diva."

Arthur chuckled all-knowingly and took a long swig of his drink, setting it down with a contented sigh. "So, how was I tonight?"  
"As always you seem to live up to your stage name."

"Ohonhonhon, indeed 'e did."

Both men looked up from their conversation and turned to where the club's owner sat down on the opposite end of the bar counter. Dressed plainly in a pair of slacks and a white blouse with the top few buttons undone with a delicate silver chain around his neck, Francis could've been mistaken for any of the other sleaze-balls who were here tonight.

An applause sounded as the mob by the stage was forced to watch as the 'King' disappeared. Francis smirked until the noise died down. His azure blue eyes shimmered in the dim light, flashing a brief warning to Alfred before settling back on Arthur, who simply turned back to his drink.

Francis chuckled as Arthur gave him the cold shoulder. The Englishman was always moody after a show. Slender pale fingers carded through long blonde hair, smoothing it back past and over his ears, Francis blinked slowly just as Alfred presented him with a glass of his favourite wine from a reserved bottle. Then the American went back to his job as a few new customers fresh from the stage floor arrived, knowing better than to intervene with Francis when the man spoke to Arthur. His job depended on it.

"Mm, so _Ange_, 'ow did we do tonight? No doubt Mathias 'as done a good job tonight. Make me smile ~"

Again Arthur finished his glass with a sigh, pushing it back so that he had space to lean forward on the counter, his head already feeling muggy from the rum. Dipping into the pocket of his leather jacket he pulled out the bundle of notes.

"$500. I'm not taking any less than half tonight."  
Francis took the notes, inspecting them as if to ensure they were all there before he cut the pile and handed one half back. "Alright. 'Ere you are, _Ange_. Your share."

Arthur scoffed at the endearment. Sometimes Francis could be so… so slimy, it made him sick to the stomach to make him think that he acted like the older man's lapdog.

"Hold on. This is only $350. Where's my other $150?"

"Club tax, mon Ange. You should know that."

"Yes but you usually cap it at $100! Why so much?"

Francis put the glass of wine to his lips and took a long swig, being sure to spread the flavour over his tongue as he savoured the sweetly-aged liquor.

"It should be enough for you, Arthur. You only need $150 to pay for your 'ospital bills and medicine, and what's left over is enough for your rent. Am I right?"

"Yes, but –"

"But what? You're a greedy boy to think otherwise." Arthur bit his lip as the Frenchman slid over from his seat and edged closer. Those slender fingers locked around Arthur's chin, brushing his pale flesh and forcing him to look up. Arthur blushed hard as he found himself unable to maintain his temper, and moreso when a deliciously warm grin spread itself across Francis' face making his insides squirm.

"But… but nothing. $350 is fine. I just don't see why I can't keep a bit more. I earned it..." Francis released Arthur's chin with a soft chuckle. Stooping and pressing a kiss to the stripper's temple he grinned and softly petted Arthur's hair, knowing that he'd already won. It was a well known fact that Arthur would take anything he could get.

"Good boy." Francis finished his glass and got up from his stool. "Now then, 'ow about I take you 'ome?"

Little else was said as Alfred stood by and was made to watch as Francis led Arthur from the building outside to where his car was parked. Even if Arthur didn't really like Francis there was no way he could deny him even if the owner paid him unfairly.

Alfred was so deep in thought that he barely noticed as someone ghosted up beside behind the counter until that person tapped him on the shoulder.

"Jesus!" Alfred cried, startled. "Mattie, where the hell have you been?" A boy with similar looks to Alfred quietly averted his eyes to the glasses on the side.

"S-sorry, Al. I-I kinda got caught up-"

"Jeez, it's a good thing Francis isn't here right now. C'mon, if you make up for it now I'm sure nobody will notice."

Matthew Williams, Alfred's younger brother of twenty-three also worked at the club. He was the youngest employee and like his brother was among the few who didn't strip, not that Francis had ever offered him a position. Sure, he was boyish and cute but not in the same way as Arthur. Matthew looked much younger than he let on with his slender build and long wavy blonde hair that he usually kept tied back whilst at work. He worked alongside his bartender brother, serving and bringing drinks as a member of the waitstaff, although he had a terrible habit of simply blending in with his environment so he was rarely noticed and called upon in the first place. And when he was, he was often mistaken for Alfred.

"Here. Pass these shots around and this time actually make sure the customers pay you, got it?" Matthew nodded, shifting from foot to foot whilst trying not to break his eye contact with his big brother. He loved Alfred, despite the other being a complete jackass from time to time. But they shared a healthy brotherly relationship and since their parents' accident six years before that ended in their untimely deaths, they'd never been closer.

As Matthew departed from the bar with the entrusted tray of vodka jello shots, Mathias himself came slinking in and seated himself at the bar. He ordered the usual pint and laughed boldly as a few girls and a guy from his audience came and flirted, seductively touching and brushing against his still-sweated body. The only difference now since his time on stage was that he donned some more leather to keep himself looking… decent.

Mathias and the bloke from the group of followers left for the bathroom shortly after just as a new dancer took to the stage. Alfred hummed softly, turning away to tend to the glasses that needed washing, ignoring the ranting girls who jealously awaited the return of the King.

Matthew weaved between customers. People always complained that it was his fault for being as quiet as a mouse. Well, perhaps it was. Matthew was somewhat of an introvert and sometimes he couldn't help but keep quietly to himself like a good boy as he went about his daily business. Oh God how he wanted to change that.

Matthew stood back from the crowd, glaring down at the tray in his hands. All fifteen shots were gone, only four had been paid for. Well, he thought as he counted the money and gingerly returned to Alfred, I've done a much better job tonight than I did last night.

He was too entranced in the dancer currently working the poles to care when Alfred scolded him again. He waited half-heartedly until he was dismissed before joining the crowd around the stage as they whistled and tucked notes into the underwear of the masked Turk. He admired the man's moves a moment longer, quietly taking the practiced routine in.

Sometimes Matthew imagined that was him up on stage. For once he'd get the attention he craved; people – no – complete strangers would cheer him on, the crude yet oddly flattering comments fuelling the adrenaline in his sweating, glistening body as he worked his hips and wrapped himself around the cold metal pole in time to the music. The buzzing crowd would then scream for his encore, begging to see more through bribes of green.

Through shut eyes he blissfully listened to the people around him as he continued the little fantasy. The name 'Sadiq' was replaced with 'Matthew', a flushed young Canadian who secretly longed to be the one up there. Maybe he'd even be the talk of the town, moreso than the club's pride, Arthur and Mathias…

More than anything Matthew wanted to be acknowledged, to know how it felt to be the one dancing in the limelight. Nobody had ever cheered for him. And one day Matthew would get that song and that cheer that exhilarated his daydreams so, he was sure of it even if he had to move away in search of it. Matthew was a little more determined to get what he wanted than his big brother… he was certain that his break was just around the corner.

And unbeknownst to him his chance to shine was even closer than he could ever dream to imagine...


	3. Garnet Eyes

**Chapter 2:**** Garnet Eyes**

* * *

The end of the month was always the busiest time for the Cerise Noire, for that was when most working men and women were paid their salaries. And after paying the bills and purchasing groceries, some were quite happy to throw their remaining dollar bills at some pole-grinding dancer.

During those last two or three days of the month, Arthur and Mathias could easily make about $5,000 a night between them. If they did well enough to reach the night's set target, Francis would usually paid them a little extra.

It happened to be the last day of the month in May, and the club's third successful night. Matthew was passing drinks around as per usual, putting his brother's advice on how to be more verbally assertive as to ensure he'd get paid this time. It was working… sort of. Every night that he worked he tried and every night he got a little bit better. Still far from perfect though.

Even if he did only get paid for a few of the shots people were slowly beginning to recognise him. Alfred would be pleased, Matthew thought.

He continued to hand out the shots; unbeknownst to him a pair of garnet-red eyes were watching him from the bar.  
The man finally pulled his gaze away to take a long swig on his beer only to be disappointed when the blonde he discovered that those few seconds away had given Matthew enough time to completely dissolve amongst the lively hubbub of Mathias' latest male audience.

With urgency in his voice, the garnet eyes snapped to Alfred who was standing behind the bar cleaning up used pint glasses with a flannel. "Oi, Alfred. Who's the kid?"

Alfred furrowed his brows. "Kid? I thought Francis made sure to keep the minors out."

"_Nein_, I mean the kid with the glasses _und_ the tied up blonde hair. Kinda looks like someone threw you _und_ Francis into a blender together. That kid."

"Oh! Oh yeah. That's Matthew."

"Matthew? Wait a minute… your brother Matthew?"

"Yep."

Gilbert had been a good friend of Alfred's for a couple of years now, ever since the American had first served him here at the club bar. The pair frequently engaged in long conversations, often about trivial matters or the night's performances or work. As such, Gilbert had quickly learnt of Alfred's on-going secret relationship with Arthur. The German wasn't sexually interested in Arthur (his own relationship with the Brit had died long before) so he'd agreed to keep the forbidden relationship under wraps. Francis was also a very good friend of his; he could try to calm the sulky Frenchman whilst his happiness ebbed away but at the end of the day Gilbert knew it'd only be he who suffers. That, and everyone knew Francis was a bit of a drama queen.

Gilbert had also heard a fair few things about Alfred's little brother. This was the first time he'd actually seen him in person, however due to a few recent international business trips to Berlin and Vienna… daresay he felt rather excited about finally getting the chance to meet him.

With his mind quickly becoming engulfed by his interest and curiosity, the albino man swivelled in his seat to fully face Alfred. "I didn't know he worked here."

"Yeah, as waitstaff. Y'know, he passes drinks around, collects glasses from the tables, delivers drinks to the dancers… that kinda crap."

"So he's not one of the strippers?" The albino's voice dropped, making him sound rather glum.

"Nah. Francis didn't even think twice about that. He said something about Matt being too young or something. Personally I don't think he'd like the attention. He's so quiet that he's kinda hard to notice sometimes… at home he's kind of a private guy."

They fell silent again as a pair of young ladies out on a hen-night broke from their party and came to the bar giving Gilbert some time to digest this tidbit of information as Alfred became occupied. Observing the women quietly Gilbert Beilschmidt sipped his beer, deciding he'd patiently wait until the boy of interest returned from his rounds.

Gilbert was one of Francis' best customers, always one to be generous with his tips. Previously before Matthew's arrival Gilbert had made it a habit of coming to the club two, maybe three times a week, usually on a Friday and Saturday night to unwind and enjoy himself.

Without worry of embarrassing himself, Gilbert would happily admit that he only came here for the male strippers. He'd slept with enough men to know he liked it and thus could be comfortable with it… hell; he'd even persuaded a few older college kids to sleep with him. And since they were usually students in need of money it wasn't often he went to bed alone. A scoundrel, people called him. No. Gilbert liked to think of himself as simply being a rich young man with a keen eye for partners of both the sexual and business orientation.

Now Gilbert had laid his eyes on a new potential play-thing – and he was a man use to getting what he wanted, when he wanted regardless of the consequences. Even Francis couldn't stand in his way when he had his mind set on someone.

Gilbert snapped from his hungry thoughts when a certain blonde-haired Canadian ghosted up beside him, sliding a drinks tray loaded with notes and empty shot glasses onto the counter.

"How'd ya do tonight?" Alfred asked without greeting, immediately gathering up and counting the earnings of tonight's rounds. A look of joy quickly took Alfred's face as he stuffed the money into a box beneath the counter, obviously pleased with the outcome by the laughter. Gilbert was startled back to reality.

"Haha, you did great!"

"R-really? How much?"

"Well, if it was $2 a shot and you got $48 tonight… that means only six shots weren't paid for ~ Haha, good job!" Seating himself beside Gilbert, Matthew smiled humbly when Alfred shot him a thumbs up. Gilbert noticed his cheeks looking a bit flushed, beads of sweat breaking down and trailing along his jawline, proving to him how long he'd been standing beneath the hot UV lights that were dotted around the stage.

"Th-thanks. Tonight's kinda busy so it wasn't easy…"

"Nah, don't worry about it! You'll get better, just you wait ~" Alfred reassured, removing the shot glasses to be washed. He hummed as he worked. "Hey, could ya run something to the dressing rooms real quick? I promised Arthur a drink before his turn but I never got round to it."

"Oh. Sure." When Alfred turned away to prepare the drink, Matthew found himself gazing quietly at the peculiar white-haired man beside him. They found themselves peering at one another, Matt's shy and lingering, and Gilbert's bold and direct.

Matthew was about to break the contact when Gilbert suddenly spun around to grant him his full attention, a toothy grin besieging him. Still gripping the beer bottle in one hand, Gilbert held the other out as to shake Matthews'.

"Hey. So you're Alfred's brother, huh?" Matthew froze. Those garnet red eyes had taken on a more devilish tone making the Canadian feel a little nervous. The handsome stranger only grinned harder further revealing his perfectly white teeth. "He's told me a lot about you, y'know. Didn't think I'd ever get to meet you in person."

Slowly Matthew offered his hand and Gilbert firmly shook it with such enthusiasm that it startled the blonde. "Y-yeah… my name's M-Matthew… Matthew Williams."

"Gilbert Beilschmidt. Nice to meet you, _schatz_." Matthew could tell that this man was German simply by his accent. However, German was not a language he knew so was left to ponder the last word which he recognised as not being English.

Alfred turned back with Arthur's drink on a new tray along with a few munchies.  
"Matt," He called, setting the drink on the tray. "C'mon! Arthur's going on after the next song. Hurry ~!" Matthew quickly snatched back his hand and clumsily made a grab for the tray, very nearly making the drink topple.

"Careful!" Alfred hissed, "And hurry!"

"S-sorry! Sorry, I'm taking it to him now." Matthew scarpered much to Gilbert's disappointment. Alfred chuckled.

"You know how cranky Artie gets if he doesn't get something to drink before getting on stage. Hm. Maybe I shouldn't have. It's kinda cute to see him get worked up."

Gilbert grumbled, putting the rim of his beer bottle to his lips once more and draining the last drops. "Yeah, well… if you like that kind of thing, I guess so."

* * *

Arthur's fingers fumbled as he clasped the fine silver chain to his earlobe. Any moment now the music from the stage would stop and the MC would announce through their tannoy of his turn. He shrugged against the loose black jacket that concealed his body, tightly clad in leather garments. Already Arthur could feel a cold sweat coming on. He leaned forward on the dresser to look back at his green-eyed twin in the mirror.

As much as it scared him to be out on that stage before all of those men and women who hollered and wolf-whistled to him, he was prepared to do it. It was one thing to strip if it meant you were doing it for yourself or wanted a bit extra over your steady income… but when there was someone else who was relying on you to bring home the bacon most nights then it was a big difference.

Arthur sighed to his reflection, hanging his head as he fiddled with the buckle to the leather choker before fastening it securely around his neck. Slender fingers drew long lines down his throat. Once again he had high hopes tonight.

"A-Arthur? Sorry, are you decent? May I come in a moment" Startled, Arthur snapped his gaze to the dressing room door as someone on the other side knocked – rather clumsily at that. Though they were speaking too softly for him to hear through the wood his mind was quick to process whom it might be. It wouldn't be any of the other strippers, either - many of them had returned to the club floor to seduce and earn some extra cash.

"Yes. Come in, Matthew." Permission granted, Matthew tried to balance the tray on one hand as he worked the door knob with the other. Goddamn it, why did Alfred have to put so many bowls of nuts and chips on it? It was hard enough with just the drink!

Finally Matthew got it. Sighing a sigh of relief he replaced both hands on the tray and nudged the door open with his hip. To his relief a fully dressed Arthur was seated before the dresser, making one last final adjustment to his twink-ish get-up. In the Canadian's own opinion, he thought Arthur had looked much better in that police officer uniform he'd once seen him wear.

He set the tray down on the edge of the dresser and hopped back, smiling gently. Arthur slowly reached for the glass of bright golden-yellow liquid with the orange wedge on the side. He sniffed it before taking a small sip.

"The arsehole could've given me something stronger than a bloody screwdriver."

"T-tonight's crowd is being pretty generous. There are even a few party groups too... Sadiq made a lot on just his own. Francis wouldn't like it if you drank too much tonight and spoilt things, don't you think?"

Arthur tilted back the entire cocktail, the refreshing bitter-sweet aftertaste of the orange juice smoothing out the burning caused by the vodka as it ran down his throat. A bowl of chips was upset as Arthur carelessly set the drained glass of ice back onto the tray. "I s'pose." He said.

Matthew took the time to admire the Englishman quietly from afar. Why did he look so tired, so bored even? If that were him he knew his heart would be jumping up into his throat until the moment arrived for when he finally got up onto stage… how could anyone not be excited about that?

Matthew would've loved to have continued to dream idly though it seemed as though Arthur wanted to continue talking.

"Do us a favour, will you?"

"Oh. Um… sure, eh. What is it?"

Arthur was stirring the contents of the bowl of salted peanuts on the tray with a bored expression. "Actually, could you do us two? One, tell that brother of your's to stop giving me this crap to eat before every show. I don't need it." Matthew's eyes traced over Arthur's slender body. He could see where Alfred was probably coming from; Arthur did look as though he didn't really eat enough, not that he supposed it was any of his business.

"Two; if you next see Francis tonight let him know I've gone home early and I'll pick up tonight's tips tomorrow instead." With a nod of his head, Matthew filed the requests to the back of his mind for later. As well as serving the drinks he often did little odd-jobs for the more senior staff, something of which he didn't mind – so as long as the request wasn't ridiculous.

"What's tonight's song?" Matthew inquired, as if he didn't already know. He'd spied on the Englishman and other dancers during rehearsals enough to know the line-ups.

"Closer by Nine Inch Nails."

"H-how appropriate. Did Francis pick it?"

"Who else?" Arthur turned back to the mirror, muttering angrily to himself. As far as Arthur was concerned some of the songs Francis made him dance to were just used as an excuse for old sleaze-balls to dry-hump thin air whilst they watched him grind his junk against a metal pole.

There was a sharp knock on the door followed by a woman's voice.

"Two minutes until show-time, Arthur!"

"Thank you, Eliza. I'll be out in a moment." Getting up and having a quick once-over, Arthur then turned to Matthew. "Go on, get back to work. You shouldn't be in the dressing rooms when no-one's around. And remember what I said."

* * *

**A/N:** My apologies for this one being so late. I've had terrible writer's block recently.  
So in this chapter Gilbert is introduced, as are some of Arthur's thoughts and feelings towards his job. Ivan will be in the next chapter.

Also, I'd like to thank everyone for the positive feedback and comments of the story so far - I really appreciate it, and I certainly didn't expect it to get so popular in such little time ~  
I apologise if some of the characters appear a bit OOC... but at the end of the day this whole story idea was a bit 'hit-and-miss' when I first started writing it.

If anyone has any suggestions or ideas, feel free to PM me about them. I'd love to hear them if there's something you'd like to see ^^


	4. A man called Ivan

**Chapter 3: A man called Ivan**

* * *

Unsurprisingly, summer vacation usually initiated the start of a weak business period during the warmer months for Francis' club due to the fact that many of the usual clients went away abroad. This meant that the club was often forced to shut early on certain days of the week – just as well. The Cerise Noire didn't have AC… there were few clients who'd pay for sweat-sticky stripper clad in leather and body glitter draping themselves over their laps.

Private shows, Matthew knew, were something Arthur loathed for few good reasons. He'd heard the horror stories from Alfred and Gilbert, shows where the English dancer had been assaulted and in some cases almost raped by horny, drunken stag-doers and groups, often during or shortly after. Francis now took extra precautions; Berwald, one of the club's best bouncers was now required to attend each show. Then afterwards he'd escort Arthur back to the dressing rooms until the Brit was decently covered – they'd learnt that full security was needed to deter would-bes from following him.

Tonight was dead. Only a couple of the lower-grade dancers had shifts this eve, and unfortunately if it hadn't been for a request by a very well-off customer, Arthur would've gotten the night off.

As thoughtful as ever was Alfred. He was busy chattering to Matthew about Arthur's private show in the lounge whilst deciding on a suitable alcoholic beverage to have his brother bring the Brit. It really did amaze Matthew that Alfred, though he loved Arthur, was completely unfazed by the older man's sexually suggestive and perspectively degrading work.

"Is it just the one guy he's dancing for?" Matthew asked Alfred as the older blonde went about mixing up the decided cocktail.

"Yeah. Big Russian dude, always wears this long whitish scarf. He doesn't come very often but when he does he only has private shows. Really rich, too, that's why Francis always wants to make sure he's happy. But he's an asshole."

Matthew finished his own drink and took the tray containing a decorated fluorescent blue cocktail. "As rich as Gilbert?"

Alfred shrugged. "Hard to tell. All I know is that in the past when he's felt particularly generous he's coughed up nearly $5,000 in tips."

"…That's a lot."

"Yeah. Let's just hope he's satisfied tonight, otherwise we're not gonna be getting any tips. Now get going. Arthur's gonna wanna be at least half-way hammered for this guy."

Alfred ended the conversation by turning his back on Matthew to serve a woman who'd come to the bar. The curious Canadian gave the blue drink he had a raised-brow look and a sniff. It's tropical scent skin failed to mask the distinctively strong alcoholic smell, and it's fluorescence seemed to give it a dubious air. Matthew was certain Arthur was definitely going to get a bit more than half-way hammered on this lil' doozey.

Matthew hurried off to the dressing rooms without a word more. When he got there he found Berwald patiently waiting outside the door with his arms crossed. He didn't seem to notice as Matthew slipped past him, knocked on the door and went on inside.

There was Arthur, crouched beside the costume rack and completely nude and dripping wet with the exception of a green bath towel that was hanging off his hips, covering just enough of him to make it as embarrassing for Matthew.

He set the drink on the tray aside on the dresser and waited for Arthur to notice.

"A-Arthur…?" Said Matthew when he decided he'd been waiting long enough with no results. "Arthur?"

Said Briton snapped his attention to the younger blonde and blinked his vibrant grass-green eyes. "Oh? Matthew. When did you come in?"

"A little while ago." Matthew replied, cheeks reddening slightly when the towel nearly slipped from Arthur's waist as he stood before it was quickly caught. He shuffled his feet and looked quietly to the floor though not before gesturing to the drink. "Alfred asked me to bring you this. He said you've got a private show with a Russian guy."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the Canadian before turning back to the rail to take a blue police officer uniform off its hanger. He'd wear this tonight.

Arthur draped the costume over his arm and came over to take the offered drink. Without so much as hesitating to what it was he downed the whole thing before setting the emptied glass back down on the side.  
"I'm going to need something stronger than a bloody Blue Hawaiian if I'm going to do this again." He muttered.

"Y-you shouldn't worry. I'm sure you'll do great." Arthur disregarded the little pep-talk that was being given and instead slipped into the bathroom to get dressed. Through the door the pair talked, and unsurprisingly it was Arthur who led the conversation

Matthew learnt quite a bit about tonight's client from Arthur. His name was Ivan Braginski, a Russian businessman who now lived out here in the city with his two sisters. The man was apparently not easy to get along with, as Arthur mentioned he didn't know a soul who liked him for anything more than his cash.

Yet, for some odd reason Arthur was Ivan's preferred stripper as he was whom he asked for and would shell-out the most money for. And that was stupid, because Ivan didn't even like Arthur, vice versa.

"Fuck, I hate him." Arthur spat once he was out of the bathroom, fully clad in the tight police uniform complete with cuffs and a cap which he stood looking into the mirror to adjust. Matthew again looked away to save himself the embarrassment from being caught looking below the belt. "Alright lad, I'm off. You better make yourself scarce too; this isn't the place you should be messing around in."

"O-okay."

...Matthew _didn't_ leave. He procrastinated in staying even when Arthur left with Berwald. He wasn't worried that anyone would catch him here; Mathias was the only other dancer who shared this particular dressing room and he'd gone home for the day. All of Francis' other dancers shared a communal dressing room down the corridor. He wasn't concerned that Alfred would come looking either. The American rarely looked up from his work to find his brother until the time came for him to bring a drink or message to Arthur.

The Canadian's curl bounced as he made his way around the room, amazed at some of the things he saw in the lavish room. Racks of assorted stripper costumes and leather bondage-type outfits adorned the far side of the room where Arthur had been when he'd entered earlier. All kinds of accessories and jewellery pieces that matched the costumes littered the dressers and oak coffee table in the center, with a few used costumes left on the two-seater (courtesy of Mathias from the eve before).

At one end of the room beside the door to ensuite bathroom/shower there was also a water dispenser that Francis had provided in hopes to encourage his two booze-loving bests from getting tipsy before show time.

Matthew also saw a few things that he'd never really noticed before, such as a mini-fridge which had a variety of notes and interesting photos pinned on the door. Out of curiosity he opened the mini-fridge though was disappointed to find a few empty beer cans (again, Matthew guessed they had belonged to Mathias once upon a time).

Amongst the assortment of legit-looking uniforms and cheesy get-ups, curious amethyst eyes were quickly drawn to a particular cowboy outfit complete with a Stetson hat and a buckled holster belt. A price tag confirmed that the garment was likely brand new and unworn.

To begin with Matthew looked away and continued to look through the many costumes. However, before long he felt an itchiness and he felt somehow persuaded to return to the cowboy outfit.

Soon enough his own waitstaff uniform was lying in a forgotten heap on the floor as he stood before the full-length mirror that was positioned next to the rail where he admired himself, readjusting the Stetson and synthetic leather waistcoat jacket that he wore. The outfit itself wasn't too bad; he could look at himself without blushing ashamedly. He had a nice red and white bandanna scarf around his neck, and there was a little gold star-shaped badge pinned to the waistcoat's front. No shirt or jacket underneath but the chaps wore snuggly over his work pants and proved to be rather comfortable though he had yet to put the matching boots and holster on.

Matthew knew he would get in trouble if caught. But… he wasn't doing any harm, or so he thought. Nobody would even know he was here so he was free to indulge in his fetishes until then, even if he did think the hat would probably look better on Alfred.

Setting a hand on his hip Matthew tried his hand at flashing a few seductive smiles and poses whist flagging the hat around in the other hand, pretending that beyond the man in the mirror was an audience of several hundred strong, him atop a dark stage with a single sleek silver pole and white lights to illuminate his slim, ghost-likened form.

Of all things Matthew expected during his little daydream in which he found himself cheering his imagined persona on, what happened next was not one of them. There was a bright flash, followed by the quick whirr of a camera shutter, which repeated several times in a matter of seconds. Someone chuckled.

A startled Matthew spun round with a squeak where he felt back into the rail and landed hard on his backside. The same amethysts that had been looking so wistfully into the mirror now reflected a look of fear and vulnerability as they searched for whoever it was.

Oh.

Gilbert was stood by the door with an amused grin, a bottle of beer in one hand and a digital camera in the other. As soon as Matthew saw the device he looked for an escape but the white-haired man was blocking the only exit from the room. Gilbert set the beer on the dresser and approached until he was mere feet away. Then dropping into a crouch he turned the camera to show him a photo, a devilish grin splitting across his face.

"Got anything to say for yourself, sheriff? Y'know, before I show these sexy little shots to Francis _und_ your big brother?"

It looked like Matthew couldn't look angry even when he was trying to. The Canadian, having recovered from the initial shock, lunged for the camera. Gilbert predicted this and managed to jerk the camera out of his reach in time.

"Give it to me Gilbert!"

"Ah ah aah ~ Not so fast, cowboy. " Gilbert got to his feet and bared his teeth into a mischievous grin. Frustrated, Matthew followed Gilbert to his feet and scowled his meanest scowl. The German took one look at his expression and howled with laughter.

"Kesesese! Are you really that upset over a few little photos?" He wiggled the camera just out of reach, triggering another attempt Matthew to try and snatch it again.

"I'm not supposed to be here alone. I-I could get Alfred a-and I fired if Francis saw me messing around in here."

"_Ja_, I guess. Ol' Franny isn't so hot with Alfred sniffing around Arthur, so I suppose any excuse to get rid of him is as good as anything."

Matthew didn't see the humour in this as he resisted the urge to tackle the taller man to the ground. "Give me the camera, please. I-I don't care if I get fired… but Al-"

Gilbert didn't like it when they pleaded, albeit it was always a fun twist in the bedroom. Not today though, as he tried not to roll his eyes at the younger blonde. "Relax Birdie, I'm not showing anyone anything."

"Y-you're not…?"

"Nope, I'm not. Unless I decide to keep it as blackmail material…" Matthew's eyes widened, practically begging him not to go through with the idea. "…But there's not much point in that since there's nothing I want from you." Yet.

"Let me delete the photos then."

"Why?"

"I-I want to make sure you won't go back on y-your word." Red eyes flicked to meet amethyst for a moment before Gilbert gave in with a sigh. He dipped his hand back into his pocket to retrieve the digital device before chucking it over. Even though he'd vowed not to melt to such a cute face it was proving difficult for him to simply ignore.

"Whatever. Just don't fucking break it, otherwise you'll definitely be making up for it – one way or another."

Nimble hands handled the camera carefully as Matthew turned the device back on and worked out how to permanently delete the images. When he found correct the files he skimmed through them, hoping to find something interesting – perhaps mister Gilbert was practicing the art of espionage photography and there was something juicy awaiting his own eyes.

He was left disappointed to find that there were only pictures of him so quickly the Canadian pressed a few buttons, deleting the images, and handed it back. By that point Matthew felt his cheeks warm with a small blush as he felt Gilbert boldly examine his cowboy-cladden body with those unnaturally red eyes.

The albino placed the camera back into his trousers and moved to where Matthew's work uniform was dumped on the floor.

"Um… c-c-can I have those, please?" He didn't really trust Gilbert not to pull a runner with his clothes and leaving him in the dust in a bandanna and chaps. Gilbert picked the waitstaff uniform up and took a good look at it.

"Hmf. You looked a lot better in this then that crappy get-up." He muttered, tossing the clothes over.

"S-sorry, what was that? I didn't hear."

"…Nothing. So, what're doing in here?" Gilbert watched rather disappointedly as the boy he'd been hoping to soon bed disappeared into the ensuite to get changed. He followed Matthew to the door and leaned against the wall beside with arms crossed and one foot resting on the wall itself as he waited for a response.

"Um… I was supposed to bring a drink to Arthur from Alfred. H-he's doing a private show for a Russian man called-"

"-Ivan Braginski?"

There was a moment in which Matthew said nothing. "Y-yeah, how did you know?"

"Huh? Oh… long story really. Me and Braginski used to be business partners. Used to do a lot together but these past few years we've gone from bad to worse… we were never really all that friendly in the first place. He's a complete dick now. Always trying to cut me the raw deal by making shifty exchanges und shit like that." Gilbert noticed his beer still on the dresser and walked over to fetch it before returning to his spot by the door, as though he were loyally guarding it and the boy inside. In a way he supposed he was.

"The way Al was talking about him I don't think he likes him very much."

"You don't say? Nah, Ivan pisses a lot of people off. He has this really creepy smile _und_ this… uh… 'aura' about him. Uses sheer his size _und_ that 'aura' to bend others to his will… I guess that's why he ended up getting so successful." The albino took a long pull on his beer, the rim of the bottle making a distinctive popping sound as he pulled back. "You know what I don't understand?"

"What?"

"Why Ivan insists on having Arthur dance for him in the first place. They don't even like each other… hate each other's guts, _ja_? Though then again I guess it gives the vodka-bastard some sort of satisfaction to see Arthur being forced to demean himself for something he needs badly - like money. Too bad he doesn't have much of a choice, poor bastard. Ah well."

He soon heard the click of a lock and the creaking of hinges as Matthew left the bathroom, now fully dressed in his old uniform and looking rather shame-faced with that same blush, if not quite as prominent as before. He hung the soldier uniform back on the hanger and placed it back on the rail. Mathias and Arthur wouldn't notice if it were a little crumpled, right?

"What the hell's wrong with you? Did the bold little sheriff lose his confidence when he realised the man in the mirror wasn't the only one watching?" Gilbert teased.

Matthew muttered something as he walked over to the dresser to take the tray and glass that had held Arthur's Blue Hawaiian.

"N-no. I just didn't expect anyone else to walk in, that's all."

"Aw. Well maybe in the future when you next decide to play dress-up, I suggest you lock the fucking door. Got it kid?" He drained the last of his beer and set it forcefully on the tray in a deliberate way.

Matthew opened his mouth to bark a half-hearted protest until he saw the sharp pearly white teeth of the other once more.

"Jeez, don't look so serious. Come on, I'll buy you a beer."

"I-I don't really drink… and I'm working."

Gilbert arched a white brow. "Oh really? You call putting on boots und leather und posing in front of the mirror like some 16-year-old high school prom queen working?" The Canadian looked down to the ground, a hand rubbing his shoulder as he tried to come up with some sort of an excuse.

Matthew shrugged. "I-I don't really like the taste of alcohol."

"Pfft. Nobody likes the taste. They drink it for the effect."

They settled with the idea of sitting up at the club bar, drinks on Gilbert as he promised. Though not a drop of liquor passed through Matthew's lips, the same thing couldn't be said about the albino businessman who surprisingly became sleepy rather than intoxicated. Nevertheless, his dozy state still kept Matthew on his toes as he feared that the other would suddenly spill his dressing room antics onto his brother. But not a word was said. Throughout he remained on the borderlines and listened as Alfred and Gilbert bantered on about trivial matters regarding god-knows-what, though once or twice Matthew could've sworn that the platinum blonde had winked at him.

About midway through Gilbert third beer, Arthur appeared, holding a wad of cash in one hand whilst dressed back in the shirt, pants and plain jacket that he'd worn on arrival for tonight's shift. Least to say he looked rather chuffed.

"So, how much?" Alfred whipped him up a quick rum-based cocktail and passed it across the bar as the Briton sat himself down next to Matthew.

"$3,000. Not bad. With this I might finally be able to keep on top of the bills this month." Arthur re-counted the bills he had. Then he cut them like a deck of cards and pocketed one half. "There. Francis' share. That's more than what I owe him in club tax, the greedy fuck. Where is he anyway?" Alfred smiled, pleased to see that the other wasn't hung up on having to dance for Ivan.

"Dunno. Probably with Ivan now."

"_Ja_, maybe he's arranging it for when you guys can have sexy times again." Teased the German mockingly, earning him a sharp clout to the head by the Brit himself. "Ow, hey!"

"I'm not sleeping with him, idiot!"

"One of these days you might have to, Eyebrows. The crazy Dane too. The club will go to the pits _und_ you guys will have to hump your ways back to the top ~!"

Now although Arthur didn't particularly like Francis he did have faith that the other wouldn't do such a thing. "God forbid should Francis ever allow it. The man's a pig but I'm sure he wouldn't turn the place into a brothel, as shit as it already is."

"Hey Alfred, if the club does become a whorehouse you might actually get a shot at fucking Eyebrows!" What surprised Arthur was that Alfred looked as though he was considering it.

"A-Alfred!"

"W-what? Ah, sorry. Come on, if the worst happens the three of us can quit. You and your brothers can move in with us until ya find another place. Everything would work out in the end."

Arthur quietly glared at the other, looking rather sad as he sipped his drink. "…That won't be possible and you _know_ it."

Matthew sat back and waited to see if Arthur would explain why. Everyone had fallen rather quiet for some reason, even the once-rowdy Gilbert had taken a step back out of the conversation which did surprise Matthew.

What surprised him even more though was the fact that later that night, just before tottering off, Gilbert left him his phone number on a napkin. A joke, right? Matthew had thought so although it didn't stop him from slipping the napkin into his pocket for later. However, Matthew being Matthew, later never came. Although he did like Gilbert he figured that the man didn't really feel the same way – he'd been under the hazy influence of several pints, after all. Everyone did stupid things that they regretted later, so it was Matthew's thinking that he'd simply feel dejected if he called.

For the next few days Gilbert permanently kept his cell phone switched on, waiting impatiently for when the blonde finally plucked up the courage to give him a ring.

* * *

**A/N - This was such a pain in the ass to write. Seriously. Re-written 7 times (yes I counted .) and each of those times I was pretty unsatisfied. Hell, originally I had Matthew dressed like a feckin' army guy rather than a cowboy. God knows why I changed it... eh.**

**Anyways, my apologies for this chapter being so... unexciting. Ivan's been vaguely introduced, Matthew tried to be sexy and got caught and Gilbert gave him his number. Doesn't sound great but this was the best out of a bad few XD**

**E****dit - I'm sorry there hasn't been a new chapter for a while. I've lost my notes so I have no idea what I should write for the next chapter. I'm really stuck.**


	5. Special Services

**Chapter 4:** **Special Services**

* * *

"You want us to _what_?"

Needless to say it was only a matter of time before the Cerise Noire began to lose money. Francis Bonnefoy was splashing out more money than what he had coming in.

However, Francis had not been the only one falling on hard times. Antonio, a high-spirited Spaniard whom was also a good friend of his ran another club in the red-light district in the seedy part of the city. According to him as soon as he began to offer his 'special' services, a high stake was always guaranteed.

Francis tapped the side of his glass as he spoke. "I want you both to offer yourself as prostitutes. Men, women… you'll sleep with whoever pays to do so… of course it won't be as simple as that." How subtle... then again, Francis wasn't one to sugar-coat things.

"What? There's no way hell I'm doing that!" Mathias protested.

"Me neither. Prostitution is illegal. I refuse to risk my ass with the cops, especially when I've got two dependents back at home." Arthur added, folding his arms whilst he took on a positively evil-looking scowl.

"That is why only our most loyal regulars will have the privilege, _mon cher_. Only a select few will 'ave access to our exclusive services. And I plan to renovate the basement as well for activities to take place. I promise you'll both be_ perfectly_ safe."

"No way!" Mathias cried again, mimicking Arthur by snapping his arms across his chest. "I'm not gonna fuck whoever walks through that front door. Geez, I have standards, y'know."

Francis cocked an eyebrow. "Standards, you say? I believe our bathroom security tapes beg to differ." Mathias turned bright red. Arthur scoffed.

"I don't care what you do, Francis. I'd sooner work the streets like a common tramp than work in this shit-hole establishment that you call a club. At least then I'd get my full cut of the money."

Francis furrowed his brow in a light scowl. "_Oui_, you could do that … that is, if you're willing to risk your health and safety with unfamiliar cliental. I won't allow my boys to come to any 'arm." Francis tipped the last droplets of wine from his glass into his mouth and licked his lips with a grossly wet smacking sound. "I'll let you two think about what you'd like to do, 'owever I expect to 'ear your decisions by Friday. That's two days from now. You're both dismissed."

* * *

Matthew said nothing to the chipper, chatting garnet-eyed businessman as he ran a rag-cloth over one of the booth tables in a dark corner of the Cerise Noire's main floor. It was a spot made popular by a few of the seedier characters that still attended the strip club; mostly drug dealers and pimps who found the vacant and 'respectable' club to be the perfect meet-up point. Cops never came in here to check out any suspicious activity. Without a doubt the booth would be left a pigsty and poor Matthew always had the misfortune of being the one to clear up. And for some reason Gilbert always insisted on joining him. Matthew assumed it was just lost time made up since he never picked up his phone for the man.

The albino German waved his hand in front of Matthew's face, "Hello? Are you listening to me?"

Don't get him wrong, Matthew enjoyed the company. One would sometimes get lonely when they were made to go around to all the dressing rooms and booths to clear up.

It was just that Gilbert was rather high maintenance… in-your-face, even; he demanded constant attention from the Canadian whenever they were left long enough for the German to open his mouth. Nevertheless, Matthew found himself liking Gilbert Beilschmidt more and more. He was a nice, friendly guy.

Matthew huffed, blinking his eyes and moving his head away from the slender pale hand. "Not now," he sighed as though talking to a pup who wanted to play. "I've got to get all this work done otherwise Francis will make me stay until I finish."

Gilbert snorted, slumping forward on the table. "Work, shmork. That's all you ever do around here."

"That's kind of the reason why I come here every night, y'know. Money doesn't just appear out of nowhere." Gilbert shrugged, showing an ounce of arrogance.

"Maybe it does for some people. I don't have any problems earning my patch of green." He foolishly thought that if he flaunted his wealth and bragged about it then perhaps he could impress Matthew.

Matthew hummed as set broken pieces of bottle glass onto a serving tray. He was acting as though he hadn't heard Gilbert at all. Standing up from where he sat at the newly tidied booth, Gilbert followed Matthew to the trash can behind the bar where Alfred was happily serving Mathias and Arthur.

Needless to say Gilbert's little self-imposed task of trying to win Matthew over wasn't going as smoothly as he liked.

"What d'you say about heading to a bar after you're done here?"

"After working here for a seven hour shift I think I'll pass. Besides, I don't-"

"-drink. _Ja_, I know, you told me before. They don't just sell booze at a bar though. You could have a glass of milk or Pepsi or whatever." As he spoke Gilbert gesticulated with his hand. Smirking, Matthew just managed to keep back a snarky comment as he tipped the tray of broken glass into the trash and set the tray on a shelf behind the bar beside a row of liquors that stood on the counter. "I said no."

Matthew then turned, one hand reaching up to readjust his glasses. Gilbert slinked round from the bar and stood a mere two feet from his face, smiling deviously. "Fine. If a bar isn't your thing then I know a few good clubs in the east district uptown."

"I'm really not much of a… of a clubber. Thank you for the offer though."

Gilbert sighed and Matthew shuffled away. It was like this every time. This was far from the first time Gilbert had 'asked him out'. His efforts of getting him to have a night of fun were in vain of the wealthy albino as Matthew constantly him down. Unfortunately it only made Gilbert want him more... he _would_ get what he came for in the end!

Drawing his gaze away from meeting Gilbert's, Matthew quickly turned and walked to finish with the last tables. Honestly, he wouldn't have minded spending a bit of time with his brother's peculiar friend; he was nice albeit annoying and he seemed like a genuinely good-hearted man. Not bad-looking either. While he assumed many were put off by those blood-red eyes Matthew found them to be rather… attractive.

Matthew never really considered himself as being gay. He'd had neither a boyfriend nor a girlfriend before leaving his preferences a bit of a mystery to even himself. He'd sometimes see a pretty girl that'd make him smile, or a bloke that he would make his thoughts wander, but in the end Matthew never really thought much about being single; besides, it wasn't like he was alone. His friends Tim and Carlos never had a girl or even a guy to brag about either. But Gilbert was kind of cute... nevertheless, he didn't want to misinterpret his invites to a night out on the town as a request for a date.

Gilbert shadowed him as he moved around the floor, grinning deviously as he watched Matthew spray the tables clean using a bottle of warm soapy water before wiping it over with a wash-rag. Like a true wild animal on the prowl, Gilbert crouched a short distance from his target behind a table. Almost ignoring the other, but not without smiling amusedly, Matthew continued to spray and wipe. Aside every other opinion he held of Gilbert, odd and interesting were two words he definitely favoured as of now.

Growling softly Gilbert firmly grasped the table ledge. The mischievous look in his eyes never faltered. Bunching up his leg muscles Gilbert readied himself and…

_**Pounced!  
**_

Startled by the sudden contact of the German man racing past him it took Matthew a moment's pause before realising that Gilbert had abducted his cleaning things. He turned, astonished, only to see Gilbert standing two tables away. What? Why?

Sourly, Matthew took off after him. "Gilbert, give those back," Gilbert cackled. "I need them!"

"Come get them Birdie. C'mon, who's stopping you ~?"

"Gilbert…" Purple eyes narrowed. Matthew darted after the albino, whom quickly dodged the little cleaner's advances by vaulting over a table, consequently knocking over several chairs and smashing a glass beer bottle in the process.

"I'm serious, Gilbert!" After numerous failed attempts of subduing the German, Matthew managed to corner Gilbert with his back to the wall. Just when Matthew was about to take back the cleaning tools Gilbert wiggled past him, flaunting the trophies of their game as he dashed away and hid behind yet another table. Matthew huffed. Crossing his arms he cast the meanest look he could. Gilbert tried to muffle his laughter by turning it into a cough – _Gott_, was this kid serious?

Sick of the grown man's games, Matthew suddenly noticed as Arthur and Alfred got from their places at the bar and headed for the heavy door emblazed in the silver lettering that clearly read 'STAFF ONLY'. Perfect.

Garnet eyes ablaze with naughtiness peered between the table legs after a moment. Had Birdie given up? So soon? Gilbert sniggered, victorious. He shifted, eyes trying to catch a glimpse of Matthew. Beneath his feet broken glass from the smashed beer bottle from earlier crunched though he noticed it barely. His smile quickly vanished though when he no longer saw Matthew standing where he'd been.

Gilbert set the damp cleaning cloth and spray bottle down beside him. He was a jungle cat, warily swaying his head, eyes glowing in the dim as he sought his delectable little morsel.  
Unfortunately for this pale predator, Matthew was very clever.

"I've got you!"

"…!" Gilbert's first real physical contact was not how he expected. First off, he never expected that seemingly lithe and slender body to be so… solid. Not that Gilbert thought Matthew was fat, but there was definitely a punch of muscle hidden beneath that waistcoat. Matthew took advantage of his strength, using it to pin the squirming, wiggling mass of Gilbert to the floor on his belly.

"_Scheiße_." Gilbert grumbled, feeling the pressure on his back wane as Matthew moved to get off him. The shamefaced German sat up, grinning nevertheless, and rubbing the back of his neck. "Fine, you win this time, Bir- hey, what's up?"

Gilbert watched as the younger man stiffly eased down onto his knees, clutching his hand. A streak of crimson against flushed skin caught the albino's eye.

"I-I must've cut myself…" Matthew croaked sheepishly, his face blanching. Gilbert's eyes fell to the blood-specked shards of broken glass on the floor. Offering his hand his demeanour at once changed.

"Let me have a look." He offered his hand.

"N-no, it's okay. I-I just need to wash it under the faucet-"

"Let me have a look." It came out as a fierce order this time rather than a kindly offer. Matthew froze. Then, seeing no way out of it, nodded and surrendered his hand for inspection.

Gilbert opened his palm with granted ease and began to survey the damage. Matthew winced as the other poked and pulled at the wound, creating an even greater opening for the blood to gush from. There wasn't much blood really but the way it quickly dribbled down Matthew's palm made it seem so much more.

"Ouch…"

"…Sorry."

"I-I think there's a f-first aid kit behind the bar. There might be s-some bandages in it that we could use…" Gilbert then released Matthew and turned in the direction of the bar room and pointed to the bathroom. "Go _und_ run it under the faucet. I'll be back in a moment. Don't you dare go anywhere else, got it?" _Your brother will kill me if he sees…_

Matthew nodded slowly, dazed. As soon as Gilbert was gone he did as he obediently headed straight into the men's toilets with his hand still cradled against his stomach. Once inside he approached the sink. He brought his injured hand to the basin and turned on the faucet for the hot-warm water to gush out from. He hesitated at first. The sink hadn't probably hadn't been used for hours – the water wouldn't be warm when first turned on. It had to be done though, so with a deep breath Matthew steeled himself and allowed the warming water to splash over his cuts, allowing his thoughts to wander as to stop himself from feeling the pain.

"Hey." Gilbert made the poor Canadian jump. "I got the kit."

"O-oh, thanks." Gilbert had also brought along a dustpan and brush that he'd found and once the glass was swept up and emptied into the trash the German took his hand and helped Matthew to clean and apply antibiotics to the wound. At which point the blonde Canadian began to blush. Gilbert noticed the younger's body tense up as he began to firmly dab the wound dry and wrap it in some gauze and bandage that he found in the kit, but carried on after figuring (disgruntledly) that it was probably just a pain reaction. Once he was finished, Gilbert clapped the younger man on the shoulder and began to tidy away the leftover supplies.

"All done!"

Matthew withdrew his hand to examine Gilbert's handiwork. Not bad… not great, but it was certainly doable.

"Th-thanks, Gilbert." Said man turned his head away as his milky cheeks burned scarlet that could almost rival his eyes. Then he chuckled, not at Matthew but at the general tense atmosphere while not wanting to seem too edgy or awkward himself.

"_J-ja_. No problem. Come on, let's get outta here. This place stinks." Cheered up just a bit, Matthew let himself be led from the bathroom and back out into the main part of the club building. They walked out onto and across the main floor until they reached the bar. Much to their surprise someone was sitting up at the bar, waiting with a bottle of vodka. The head of platinum blonde hair turned revealing a rather sweet-faced man with pale lavender eyes and a large, prominent nose. Wrapped around his neck there appeared to be a very long, beige-white scarf that looked very thin, as though made entirely out of a fine silk. Other than that the broad-shouldered man was dressed for business; a tan blazer and trousers on top of a crisp white shirt and black tie.

"Hello ~"

Matthew was tense and motionless. Judging by how Gilbert had visibly cringed just now made it seem obvious from past conversations with Alfred as to whom it was.

"…What the hell are you doing here, Braginski?" Suspicions confirmed.

"Hm? I was just talking with Mister Francis after he asked me to come here. There were a few new arrangements that he wanted to inform me of, ufufu ~" Rather than ignoring the shorter blonde whom accompanied his ex-business partner like one would assume, Ivan simply didn't notice Matthew to begin with. But when he did, Gilbert at once recognised the mischievous little twinkle in the Russian's eye. A twinkle he'd plenty of times before although this time there was something a little bit more... Gilbert couldn't quite place it and soon he found himself staring into the big man's cold, hard lavender gaze.

"Where's Francis now? Did you kill him or something?" Gilbert growled. Ivan's presence wasn't doing anything to improve on his mood. He really loathed the man.

"No. He's up in his office. My, comrade, why are you so irritated today?" Ivan shrugged with a giggle and turned his attention to Matthew. "Eh? Who's this, a new dancer? I am Ivan Braginski. Perhaps you have heard of me?"

Intimidated, Matthew spoke. "Y-yes I h-have… I'm Ma-"

"This is Matthew," Gilbert cut in. "He's Al's awesome little brother. He earns his keep as waitstaff here." When Gilbert finished he glanced Matthew's way for approval; Matthew had looked away. Cute. The Canadian rubbed his bandaged hand looking rather withdrawn from the situation and blushing as he suddenly grew quite shy and misplaced between the two older men.

"Oh? I have heard things about you from your brother. Alfred really is a pest though."

"H-he's not that bad…"

"Oh but he is. Always talking such loud nonsense. Sometimes I'd like to see how much he'd talk after if someone were to cut off his tongue ~ "

"Hey, hey Matt! C'mon, get your ass into gear, we're going!" Speak of the devil. Matthew turned to see Alfred wearing his trademark bomber jacket and standing by the door marked 'STAFF ONLY'. Arthur was beside him. The shorter blonde Englishman was hiding behind a long sandy trench coat that looked two sizes too big for his petit frame. They stood for a minute longer before Alfred opened the door and the pair once again disappeared into the back.

Matthew quickly jumped behind the bar to grab his coat. Untrusting of the other staff Matthew always kept his belongings in a cubby hole behind the bar-counter where Alfred could keep an eye on it. Then he turned back to the two businessmen whilst simultaneously wandering to the same door Alfred and Arthur had just passed through.

"Um… w-well, it was nice to meet you, mister Braginski but, I, um… I gotta go now. I'll, um… just…" Matthew fidgeted quietly. Both pairs of eyes were on him. Smiling gently the Canadian made a hasty dash through the door. Gilbert, whom was watching with an undeniably dreamy look immediately snapped from his daze as soon Matthew slammed the door shut. Then, hearing a small noise of recognisable amusement from Ivan, Gilbert whipped round.

"You better keep away from him. I saw him first, asshole. He's mine."

"Ehe. I didn't see your name on him. I believe that means anyone is welcome. In good time too. That Arthur is really getting to be quite a bore." Ivan tugged at the whitish-beige scarf he wore, flipping the end of it over his shoulder.

"Oh please. Like he'd want to grind against a fucker like you, even if he were a dancer. He's got taste, I can tell."

The big Russian man smiled a dark smile and wrapped his forefinger and thumb around his chin, canting his head slightly to the side as mischievous thoughts resurfaced. "Hm… Dancing isn't what I had in mind. I'm looking forward to see what he can do. Ufufu ~"

Gilbert looked quickly and searchingly at him. "What're you talking about?"

"Acting like you don't know? Hmph. I have wasted enough time talking and must be going now; my sisters are expecting me home soon. _До скорой встречи_… send my regards to Matvey, da? Ufufu." And with that Ivan turned away and began to walk from the room, switching off both the dim blue light of the bar and the main floor light as he went whilst humming a nameless tune rather cheerfully, leaving Gilbert standing in the dark – both in a literal and metaphoric sense.

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**A/N - **I'm so sorry for the crappiness of this chapter. I lost my goddamn notes so I had to write the damn thing from scratch with little to no muse... this was such an unbelievable struggle to write.

I'm hoping Chapter 5 will have something along the lines of a lemon in it. Be warned - I haven't written a lemon in over a year and the last one I wrote wasn't great... but I think I've improved a little bit.

Anyways, comment and crit is always welcome. Any suggestions as to what you'd like to see? PM me or drop a comment! Thanks guys, and again, I'm really sorry x.x


	6. Pleasure for Pain

**A/N -** Please bear with me... this is the first lemon I've written in over a year. It's not terrific, I know, but I tried x.x

If you have time, please comment and perhaps add some creative criticism. I'd much rather you tear it to shit with criticism that could help than praise it (that is, if you're trying to spare feelings) XD

* * *

**Chapter 5:**** Pleasure for Pain**

* * *

The rain wasn't helping to set the mood.

Big fat droplets of summer rain splashed down from the jagged pewter clouds hanging in the dull sky overhead, landing on the bedroom window in a monotonous plopping drone. And although he couldn't hear it immediately, Arthur was pretty certain it was windy out as well. It made him feel kind of homesick, reminding him of rainy old London back in the day when he was a young lad... yonks before he started stripping.

Every now and again the sky illuminated with an electric-white flash, followed shortly after by a violent thunderous roar. By counting the seconds and using a mental method of calculation Arthur was able to determine that the storm would soon be on top of them, with only the concrete walls of the luxurious penthouse suite separating him from the elements. He snuggled beneath the white silk bed sheets, wrapping the sleek material around his bare arms like a cloak.

A penthouse suite was far too rich for Arthur's blood. True, he was a man of good taste and given the choice he'd most certainly have an appealing wardrobe (not that he could ever let go of those old natty jeans and chains from his delinquent days; too many fond memories). No, this suite was most certainly not his. Although now Francis' reasons for needing extra money was becoming clear; he needed it just to keep a glamorous roof over his head.

What he wouldn't give for cosy den like this though. He imagined both his brothers would be perfectly happy here rather than in the dingy two-bedroomed rent they had. But then again, he was spending this night just for them. Arthur supposed it wouldn't be so bad; if he did well then Francis had promised a little something. Money, he hoped. It would at least be worth a shot.

Speaking of which… where was the lewd bastard anyways?

Arthur sat up in the bed, pulling the silken sheets over his lithe form, like a pure cloak, and looked about himself with a despaired look. His clothes… Francis had confiscated them before disappearing, leaving the Brit waiting in only his underwear… meaning unless he wanted to risk getting caught by Francis' neighbours en route of his escape, then he'd stay put.

Just then the bedroom door opened and in walked Francis. The man, like the one already waiting in the bed, was practically nude save for a white cotton bathrobe. It was embarrassing to look for Arthur so he fought any sort of eye contact, twitching uncomfortably. Although not a difficult feat with so little on and with so much otherly experience on stage, Arthur knew Francis was undressing him right there and then.

"_Mon cher_," purred the Frenchman in a voice of silk and honey, a lewd grin pinching at the corners of his mouth. "Why do you look so afraid?"

Arthur couldn't ignore the minor taunt and at once he took up the challenge, very almost flinging aside the silken sheet he wore aside to prove his soon-to-be lover wrong about his honest-to-truth bedroom shyness. Fair enough, if he was able to strip down to the last leather strand on stage then he shouldn't feel so ashamed here in a more private environment.

"Who's afraid?" he challenged with a slight jibe to his voice. Francis arched a neat blonde brow, quiet a moment before chuckling. He shut the door and approached the bed, sky blue eyes dusky and wandering. Shuffling, Arthur knew precisely what he was after.

"…Let's just get on with it, alright? I don't want to be here any longer than I have to."

"Oh come now, Arthur. There's no need to be like that. I'm sure you'll thoroughly enjoy yourself tonight. Perhaps if you permit it we could make it a regular thing ~"

"Not unless you double the pay each round we won't. Triple it after that."

"Ooh, you drive a 'ard bargain ~"

The mattress of the queen-size dipped slightly as Francis slid on beside his consort. It did hurt him somewhat to know that every pleasurable moan, whether forced or genuine, was rooted for the sake of money rather than love… yet at the same time Francis couldn't feel guilty about the splendid time they'd both (or at least he) would soon be having.

Francis began to unwind the silky sheets from his little Englishman's body, dropping them aside and filling Arthur with a lousy guilt. He would never admit to his employer that he and Alfred had already done the deed several times now, in club grounds no less. Sneaking off into the dressing rooms after closing hours to slip one in and then returning before Matthew noticed. Granted, their way of doing it had been somewhat rushed and un-sensual, nothing expected less for a quickie where at any moment your boss or colleagues could walk in. And Alfred was a half-decent shag if one got past the initial sloppiness. Sweet and sincere, yes, but his inexperience was painfully obvious.

As Arthur was lain down he made a mental note not to let on if Francis happened to surpass his efforts.

Arthur's eyes come open as Francis hovered over him. At some point the elder blonde had discarded his robe and, as feared, was now completely nude and leaning over his slim body.

Francis took a moment to appreciate the sight; Arthur laying curled beneath him with his arms tucked against his chest, legs drawn and forcing some distance, blushing hard. His emerald-green eyes were directed at the rain pounding relentlessly at the window, trying hard not acknowledge the stiffening member that was brushing against his leg.

Was he ignoring him? Francis scowled, bottom lip stuck out poutily, defining his disapproval to the Englishman. Fingers wove into the messy sandy locks, tips kneading the scalp and pulling back the thick strands of hair, and for a moment Arthur's gaze flicked to meet his. He wriggled, feeling pathetic as he knew he couldn't defy the Frenchman, and ashamed.

Francis moved, sliding his hands down behind and pulling Arthur up to meet him eye-to-eye. A hand drifts down to softly touch the kneeling Arthur's thigh while the other smoothed his shoulder with a velvet touch. "Let's start with something simple. I've always been curious as to what else that vile little mouth of yours can do."

Barely co-operative, Arthur allowed himself to be pushed down to his knees on the floor before Francis, whom moved himself to sit on the edge of the bed so that Arthur was between his legs. Arthur's mouth twitched in nervous anticipation, fully aware of what was to come. Francis hummed, long fingers caressing the length of his shaft in slow, languid strokes.

"Let's take it slow to begin with, shall we?" Francis smirked deviously, removing his hand and edging a little closer until the head of his cock was nestled against Arthur's lips. Arthur fought back the instinctive urge to wriggle away, but Francis' firm grip on his shoulder ensured that he couldn't.

Francis slightly pushed his head towards Arthur to coax him into taking him in. Arthur wrinkled his nose disgustedly. Then he opened his lips, letting the tip hit his teeth before letting the erect organ slide in about mid-length.

Francis' eyes rolled back. The delicious wet heat was dizzying, earning a moan that couldn't be held back. Fingers wound into Arthur's hair, holding him still before slowly feeding him deeper and deeper still onto Francis' cock until the younger was nearly gagging.

The Briton focused hard to relax his throat muscles before pulling back to the tip, a hand resting on Francis' thigh to keep himself steady whilst the other wrapped itself around his base. Quickly pushing forward again he engulfed the stiff, deliciously raw cock. Francis grimaced, snarling lowly when one particular vigorous movement of the other's hand squeezed the base of his cock, "…Good boy…"

Arthur gagged as the head nudged further down his throat, a little farther than he'd intended. Francis, too caught up in his pleasure to notice, reinforced his hold by taking a fresh grip of Arthur's straw-blonde hair, tugging nastily and pulling painfully at his scalp.

Finally Arthur felt Francis' fingers loosen, allowing him to draw back his head with a relieved sigh, the warmth of his breath triggering a shiver until the cock head was once more resting on his lower lip, mouth partly open and involuntarily watering.

Francis softly petted Arthur's ruffled locks, smiling. Arthur would not look at him. Rather, he was focused on the job, lapping, swirling his tongue around the head of his cock. Francis responded with a low guttural moan.

Arthur didn't need to look up to know Francis was smiling. He said nothing however, only reaching up to cup Francis's balls in one hand as he continued to lick, softly and carefully, all the way up and down the underside of Francis's cock, sac to tip, earning a gritted moan from Francis. Arthur sighed through his nose with a hum and Francis reached down, sliding his fingers further into Arthur's rough hair and grabbed a fistful, his own growls quickly resolving into purrs of relished delight.

Suddenly he grew quite rigid, hands sinking tightly into the Brit and hips bucking up into Arthur's mouth, fucking him harshly before he had the chance to readjust. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and tried to match the bobs of his head in time.

Francis grunted, picking up speed with his thrusting, his orgasm building up, winding like a heated coil within his stomach which, at any moment, would spring.

"Arthur!" Then, Francis pulled out with a 'pop', eyes squeezed shut and panting, cock flushed and dripping wet. Upon release Arthur rose back on his knees with a jerk, the hot sticky cum catching mostly in his cheek. Arthur swallowed what he could, any excess draining down the corner of his lips. When he heard Francis' pants die down and in turn chuckle, he bowed his head to look away and wiped his mouth, cheeks burning a dire scarlet-red.

The spot in the crotch of Arthur's underwear was wet with pre-cum and already embarrassingly erect, painfully straining against the fabric – had he gotten hard from just from sucking him off? Francis smiled… or rather he grinned.

Drawing up his knees the blue eyed blonde patted the spot on the bed next to him. "Come 'ere, mon Ange." A white flash illuminated the room followed shortly by a thunderous roar. The storm was upon them now, lashing out in torrents of rain and whistling wind. Arthur glanced towards the window then back to Francis looking rather hesitant. He opened his lips to speak yet he struggled to utter a word.

Francis rolled his eyes. "'Ow do you expect to make your client 'appy if you can't follow a simple command? You don't want your dear brothers to be thrown out into the cold, do you? Come 'ere. Now." Arthur stiffened. Then he got awkwardly shuffled to his feet and joined Francis on the bed, head turned, knowing damn well that the man had caught sight of the lump in his pants.

"What makes you think we'll end up in the cold? Alfred will -" Arthur was cut off, gasping when Francis suddenly pushed down onto the mattress, growling, a dark semblance tainting his normally bright sky eyes.

"Why Alfred, _cher_? You know I'll always take care of you. You give the word and I'll give you everything you could ever need. Why, there wouldn't even be any need to leave this room."

Arthur frowned. "But my brothers-" Francis smothered his lips with a hot open-mouthed kiss, immediately silencing him. He leaned over Arthur, trapping the slender man beneath his much huskier body, one hand anchoring him down whilst the other moving further south to explore. He saw how pink his smaller lover had become, the flesh of his skin burning nearly as brightly as his cheeks, making him heated and warm and just so damn fuckable.

"Mm… you're 'ard."

"You're fucking touching me, that's why, idiot."

"So feisty suddenly. I wonder 'ow loud I can make you scream." Francis chuckled, nipping and licking at his bottom lip until Arthur complied.

"Not very." Was his reply, made muffled by the other's greedy kisses. Arthur looped his arms around Francis' neck. He wanted to bite. He wanted so badly to bite the haughty twat's nose off, to let him know not to take him for the slut he – and everyone else – seemed to assume he was.

And so playful too. Francis slid his tongue in past his lips, tasting him, tasting the last traces of himself on the younger blonde's lips and swallowing a moan. Arthur kissed back, reaching up and weaving his fingers through the elder's luxurious golden hair as their tongues fought for dominance.

Only when he thought he had Arthur first thoroughly distracted with his mouth did Francis make the bold move of trying to rip off his boxers. Moments later they laid discarded at the foot of the bed and Francis reached round to stroke his shaft. The light touches elicited more shivers, gaining an even stronger reaction despite previously losing some of its vigour.

Pretend he's Alfred.  
Arthur let out a breathy wail as his head, delirious with rich carnal desire for the man in his head, bucked his hips, jerking, writhing into Francis' grip as the blonde, to his dismay, held him tightly, squeezing, growling possessively between sharp nips and licks to his bruising neck.

Francis ceased his ministrations on Arthur's cock quite suddenly. The man stopped and adored the angel beneath him for a split second, a crude smile touching his lips. Arthur pushed his arms over to cover his eyes, hiding a deep heated blush as blood rushed to fill his face… among other places.

Arthur moved his arm a crack to see what his nightly lover was up to when he felt the other man shift his weight from the bed to see Francis fiddling through the drawers on his nightstand. He returned after a moment with a small glass jar.

"What's that?" Arthur slowly rose as he was joined once more on the bed, only to suddenly be pinned. Drawing his free hand down the length of a creamy thigh Francis leaned forward, presenting the small jar for the Briton to examine, brushing away some of his fringe.

"Just a little something special to make our time all the more pleasurable, mon bel Ange." Francis made a little spinny gesture with his finger, same one that someone might use on a dog to command it to roll over. "On your back." He ordered. Arthur's eyes were still fixed on the thick milky substance sloshing inside the bottle.

Then his large brows furrowed into a tight V-shape. "I beg your pardon?"

Francis rolled his eyes. Carefully setting the expensive glass jar of lube aside, he took a firm hold of Arthur's hips and forcibly flipped him onto the  
mattress, earning a sharp cry.

"W-what the hell?"

"I expect you to behave properly when working with clients, Arthur. I won't 'ave you embarrass me or my establishment. When someone tells you to do something then you do it first time. It's only in my best interest to see that you make the sex as enjoyable for yourself as it is for our customers."

"The only thing you're interested in is the money!" Arthur snapped, red-faced. Without a word of warning Francis slapped him sharply on the thigh earning a squeak. Then draping himself over the pale Briton Francis brought his lips to his ear, stray blonde hairs tickling Arthur's neck, blue eyes a lovely sinful shade. One hand moved to tightly muzzle the green-eyed blonde with the fingers of his hand forcing entrance in his mouth, the other slipping beneath to painfully milk his cock between words.

"I am not obligated to be gentle with you, mon cher. And I'm afraid that if you do not co-operate then I may be inclined to make this experience a little less comfortable for you," to emphasize, Francis gave his cock an especially harsh squeeze which made Arthur jolt with a whimper. "Now, are you finished with all this nonsense?"

Unable to use his voice, Arthur nodded. There was a moment when Francis said nothing as he seemed to hover in place, wondering if his next move would be too mean. The older man seemed to make his decision, shifting over Arthur with a soft chuckle. Softly clucking his tongue he encouraged Arthur to lift his head using the fingers inserted in the other's mouth to guide him as he tilted up.

Leaning in their bodies were pressed together. Francis bit the Brit's neck, sharp and quick, leaving only a crown of indentations on the pale flesh over the jugular. Arthur flinched, again squirming as the other simultaneously jerked his manhood, the fine line between pain and pleasure crumbling. Another quick slap to the arse corrected this undesirable behaviour followed by a gentle lick to the angry red mark left behind.

Arthur grunted his anticipation, teeth gritted. He a made another little sound as his erect cock was released from the elder's touch– of disapproval or relief, neither seemed to know.

The glass bottle was quickly found again amongst the covers. Thickly spreading the lube on his fingers, Francis smiled. A fine blend this, not easy to come by and certainly not cheap – but saving it for this occasion he was, and use it he would.

Uncorking the bottle and spreading the lube on his fingers, Francis used one hand to part his lover's ass cheeks. Then moving back over his body, he thrust two fingers into the ring of muscle.

"Th-that's fucking cold, you bastard!" Arthur cried out with a jolt, tears quickly growing dewy and wet, teeth grinding into a grimace as arched into the mattress.

He didn't give the Brit the chance to adjust, moving his fingers quickly to stretch him. As mere compensation he stroked Arthur's cheeks and combed his fringe back over his forehead, pausing only for a second to smooch him on the nose to quiet him down. He was hot and so wonderfully tight around his fingers but painfully aware of how rigid the other man had become.

Francis kissed his reluctant lover on the eyebrow. "Try to relax cher. Otherwise it might hurt." He said gently.

"I-I know! Just give me a damn minute, will you?" The Englishman hissed through gritted teeth, shifting on the mattress to try and force those damn kegels to relax as a third finger was suddenly added, stretching and scissoring his prostate.

Had this been Alfred in this situation the sweet American would stop and ask if he was okay before carrying on, if Arthur wanted to carry on. He'd smother his lips with that warm, soft mouth, kiss away the tears in his eyes and whisper sweet nothings all the way through the prep. Arthur didn't even care that Alfred was a haphazard lover with little to no experience.

Compared to the cold, no-nonsense man Francis had come off as, Alfred was a welcome gem.

After a few minutes Francis finally felt Arthur relax around his fingers as he loosened up. Francis pressed a certain spot inside of him and Arthur moaned, shifting again. He pushed down on Francis' fingers for another taste and Francis happily complied by pushing the spot again and again, basking in the sounds the younger blonde involuntarily made.

"So you're finally enjoying yourself, hn?"

"Sh-shuttup… and f-fuck me already." Came his growled response. Francis never ceased as he arched an eyebrow, grinning and surprised.

"What was that?" he asked, deliberately pressing that sweet spot again. "What do you want me to do?"

"Hnnnggg… Y-you… know damn well what I- Aah!"

"Speak up, _mon Ange_. Tell me what you want."

Once he decided enough was enough, his own cock swelling at the sight of such need for pleasure he pulled his nicely slicked fingers completely out of Arthur, earning a groan of dismay. Coating his own cock with the last remnants of the lube there was nothing gentle about him as in one sharp thrust Francis buried himself into the Briton's tight heat with a groan. Arthur felt a hand dig into his hip whilst its twin forced his chin to Francis. Their lips met once more in one-sided passion, rivalled only when by reflex Arthur threw his arms up and around Francis' neck, pulling him down and closer as the image of a certain American burned behind closed eyes. Only spoken words could break this illusion.

Francis found he liked Arthur this way; flushed and stark-naked, panting beneath him with his swollen red lips parted. A thin trickle of saliva dribbled down his chin too, though Francis couldn't tell whose it was, nor could he care less. His mind was set on pounding that cute English arse, getting himself a taste of it before paying customers got to it and there was nothing left.

Moaning as the closer proximity caused him to slide even deeper into his Arthur, the randy Frenchman gave another thrust forward and buried himself to the hilt in the younger.

It barely took any time at all before the Frenchman was at a set rhythm. Arthur rocked beneath him, breathing raggedly between cries before melting into a melody of lewd sounds and whimpers, subconsciously urging the older blonde on. Francis pushed into Arthur again and again, kissing every visible patch of skin that he could see, wrapping his hand around and finishing with the Brit's neglected cock.

His mind was gone, overwhelmed every time Francis pressed into his prostate. He smiled when a particularly well-aimed ram made Arthur's eyes snap open with a cry. The drool at his lips raced from his chin and down the length of his throat. Francis stooped to sample the fluid, relishing in the warmth of his lover's pinking skin.

"F-Fra-Francis… more." Arthur panted. It surprised even him to find that he was saying the man's name let alone give a command. His embarrassment caused him to remove his arms from where they rested upon Francis' strong shoulders and, letting one fall back to his side, he clutched at his mouth with the other.

Francis was smug. Giving a slow, languid thrust he nuzzled the other's cheek. "What do you want, Arthur?" He felt the other move his head beneath him as a garbled request was made.

"What was that? You're going to 'ave to be clearer than that, Arthur~" Chuckling at the frustrated whimper he was issued, Francis simply continued with the same rhythmic pace as before.

"I said harder – o-ooh! Ngh… Fr-Francis…!" Arthur suddenly bucked up. Francis' hand indulged him, quickly finishing the green-eyed blonde. He released on their stomachs, at once slumping with a drawn-out sigh.

So soon? Francis was expecting him to have more endurance than this. Nonetheless, he wasn't made disappointed. Barley outlasting Arthur by a minute Francis growled and thrust his lover down to the balls and climaxed with a cry.

"Arthur!" Francis released inside of him. Warm spurts of seed rushed to fill the other blonde, the excess semen squeezing out and running down onto the rumpled bed sheets.

The two collected themselves, listless as they rode out their orgasms, milking every last drop they had to the full extent. Francis remained forcibly inside Arthur the whole time, trapping him beneath his slumped body until he was ready. At an opportune moment he seized Arthur's lips in another wet kiss. Then he pulled out, rolling off of the younger man and onto the mattress beside him.

"_Je t'aime_."

Arthur looked wonderfully ravished but still he didn't look at the Frenchman. Even after that the pleasured look that he had plastered over his sweat-slicked skin soon disappeared and as of sheer embarrassment he rolled onto his side with his back to Francis with a small sniffle. Francis sighed. Letting his hand rest in his hand as he ruffled his hair he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. Had Arthur hated it so much? Why was he so difficult to read, he didn't know. It seemed as though there was no pleasing him.

Pulling the bed sheets back over Arthur Francis made a mental note to have them changed once he had a taxi sorted to take the other home. He then flung on a bathrobe and retrieved the clothes he had hidden in the other room and brought them back to the bedroom. By the time he returned with his wallet to pay the money he owe for the night and to cover the cab fare Arthur was already dressed.

He left before the cab arrived. Francis returned from his shower to find the apartment empty and both sets of payment missing from the dresser. And upon closer inspection the Frenchman was annoyed to find his packet of smokes and a half-bottle of red wine missing from the kitchen counter. Looking outside the window Francis noticed that the rain hadn't ceased. And of the things he had stolen the umbrella by the door was not one of them.

"What an infuriating guy." But Francis couldn't keep a straight face as he told himself that over and over again. He wondered, whilst flashing between memories of the past hour, how much it'd cost to repeat that heavenly experience with the lovely little Brit again. Tomorrow, maybe?


End file.
